


Let This Remain

by DoriansAss



Category: Austin Carlile (Musician), Of Mice & Men (Band)
Genre: F/M, Living Together, live in maid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoriansAss/pseuds/DoriansAss
Summary: She was running. Always running. Was there any place for her to rest her head? Her chest heavy with exhaustion. Weary feet and eyes. And then, a light at the end of the tunnel. A pair of arms cradling her. A feeling that she thought might be safety. Salvation. Relief. She wrapped her heart around it and called it home.An Austin Carlile Fic





	1. Chapter 1

My hands clenched at my sides, palms sweaty, as I stared up at the large house before me, fully aware this was to be my new home. I wasn’t sure what exactly would come from living with a total stranger, but I was running out of options. I couldn’t sleep on the streets forever. My mind was reeling, though, with thoughts of everything that could go wrong with becoming the personal maid of a man I had never met before.  
  
“Don’t be nervous. You’re just here to keep the house clean. Other than that you can fade into the background,” the woman next to me was in her mid-forties with shoulder length brown hair swept into a ponytail. A navy blue blazer and pencil skirt making her look much more professional than me, simply clothed in jeans and a snug fitting white tee shirt, since the file read that this client didn’t require a uniform. I nodded, taking a deep breath, trying not to shake. I think her name was Carol, and I felt bad that I wasn’t sure despite the fact she was introduced to me not thirty minutes prior. She had come to pick me up at the cleaning agency, giving me a ride to my new assignment, where I would stay as a live-in maid. This was a convenient job for me, where I could dodge rent and get paid a decent enough amount, only having to pay a few personal bills, like my phone and insurance. This was my first day on the job, though. I was a nervous wreck.  
  
“We run background checks on all the clients who request live-in maids, so try not to worry. If anything happens call the agency immediately. You’ll have a personal room for yourself, and you’re being paid salary. I’m sure they went over all of this with you after the interview, yes?” she looked at me, her hair falling to one side as she flipped through a folder with paperwork inside. I nodded to her and she dropped her hands to her side, advancing towards the house. I picked up my solitary bag, containing all of my possessions. “Good. It can be a little awkward at first, but you’ll be just fine,” for the first time she smiled at me, though it felt forced. Regardless I did my best to muster a smile back, trying not to look like I was wracked with nerves. We approached the large oak wood door, and she pressed the buzzer to the side, sending a chiming through the large house. It was a much more normal house than I had anticipated. When I found out about this job I had assumed anyone who could afford a live-in maid would have a mansion and four luxury cars. However, much to my surprise, it was a simple two-story brown-ochre Victorian style house. Granted it was larger than a normal family home, but nowhere near the grandeur I was expecting.  
  
I heard footsteps padding towards the door on the other side and it was quickly pulled open, a tall man with tattoos running up and down his arms and neck appearing on the other side. My shyness kicked in full throttle and I focused my eyes on the ground, only seeing his black shoes in stark contrast to Carol’s blue high heels. She was doing all the talking.  
  
“Hi there! Mr. Carlile? We’re here from Merry Maids Cleaning Service. This is Liana,” she gestured to me and I nodded, my strawberry blonde hair falling to the side of my face, brushing my freckled cheeks. “She’ll be in your care starting today.”  
  
The man nodded, stepping to the side, allowing us entry. I made my way inside, but Carol didn’t follow, instead taking a step back. “Thank you so much for using our service, and please contact us if there’s anything you need,” she began to leave the porch, turning slightly. My breath caught in my throat and without thinking I said,  
  
“You’re leaving?” My voice was soft and anxious, my expression must have resembled a lost child, eyes wide and nervous. She cocked an eyebrow at me.  
  
“I do have other appointments. Mr. Carlile will make you feel more than welcome I’m sure,” they shared a slight nod. “If you have no other questions I’ll be going.” She turned fully, stepping quickly to the gray car we arrived in, the ‘Merry Maids’ logo plastered on the side. I felt my stomach churn as the door shut before me. A deafening silence settled over us, until the man rubbed his hands together, clearing his throat. My eyes snapped up to him, properly looking at him for the first time. He had tousled brown hair, short and pushed back, out of his amber eyes. He was tall and lanky, his face angular and long, with a nose ring. Strikingly handsome.  
  
“I’ll show you to your room,” he stated, glancing down to my bag, turning and walking down the hall. His back was tall and wide, his imposing shadow falling over me as I strolled hesitantly behind him. I wasn’t particularly short, standing at about 5’ 5”, but he easily towered over me. The dark washed, wooden floorboards creaked beneath my feet as we walked. The house itself had an antique feel to it on the inside. There were no lights on, but rays of sunlight washed through the windows, bathing everything in golden light and casting shadows on all the furniture.The air was dusty and stale, almost unlived in it seemed. Most things were muted, earthy tones, a globe shoved against the window sill in the living area, soft brown against the mossy green wallpaper that continued into the hallway. He arrived at a door, the last one on the left. As he turned the old fashioned glass door knob light refracted from it, glimmering across the wall. The sun was setting.  
  
“This is it,” his voice was deep and low set, his adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. I slowly made my way inside the room. It was rather barren, only two pieces of furniture inside. There was a light birch bed frame topped with a stark white comforter, and a small vanity that matched the wood shoved against the wall on the opposite side of the room, a stool peeking out from beneath it. There was a closet, and beside it the door to a private restroom that wasn’t connected to the rest of the house, thankfully.  
  
“I’ll let you get settled in,” his voice washed over me in waves, unexpected in the quiet that had immersed us. It felt like it was like this all the time in this place, like anything to disturb the silence was unwelcome and intrusive. I wondered if he had been alone all this time and had become accustomed to the stillness of the lonely abode. I looked on as he gently creaked the old door shut, and it was just me in an unfamiliar space. I placed my dingy green bag at the foot of the bed, running my fingers over the soft blankets. Tears welled in my eyes. I hadn’t had a safe place to rest my head in months. I had been sleeping in run-down motels, and on particularly rough nights, curled up behind the dumpsters around the back of well-lit gas stations. This job was my salvation.  
  
I rummaged through my bag, setting my toiletries where they belonged in my bathroom. The sink faucets were old fashioned, like everything else here, with round ivory handles. The bath was a white claw-foot tub that sat at the far end of the room, a shower curtain pulled to the side. There was white wood paneling that reached a bit taller than myself on the wall, and above it painted a light beige. Moving on to the closet, dust stirred as I opened the door, untouched for so long. I wondered when the last time someone stayed in this room was. I left it to air out before I hung my clothes in their proper place.  
  
There wasn’t much to unpack, and I found myself sitting timidly on the end of the bed. I still felt out of place here, like I didn’t belong in this little blip of reality untouched by time. I reached for the packet of papers with a checklist and instructions that I received from the director of the maid service, making a mental note of the chores I was now responsible for. Keeping things generally tidy, doing dishes, laundry, cooking. Nothing I hadn’t anticipated. I stood, gliding quietly over to the door, peeking out cautiously. I made my way down the hall, finding the kitchen, searching for a sign of Mr. Carlile.  
  
“Hey,” I jumped, hearing the deep voice behind me suddenly, spinning around to see him standing several feet away from me. I quickly masked my look of surprise, taking a deep breath. “Are you looking for something?” Everything he said was quiet and low, like rolling thunder beneath stormy clouds. A shiver ran down my spine.  
  
“Would you like me to start dinner?” my voice was like a soft breeze floating atop a lake next to his, quiet and unassuming. Our conversations felt like the calm before the storm, our voices deliquescing into the trickle of water running down the roof of a house. There was a silent ebb and flow, a gentleness to them, shared by two people who were used to the hush of an empty house.  
  
“Sure. Use whatever you need,” he turned and strided out of the room, disappearing into the back of the house. He was mysterious, detached. Maybe I was wrong about him living alone for a long time. Perhaps he had another maid until recently, and this was nothing new for him. This is just another regular day in his world.  
  
Digging through the pantry I managed to gather enough ingredients to throw together a tomato pasta dish. I pulled on a taupey beige apron that hung on the cabinet nearby and stood back as the pasta boiled, the sauce simmering in a pan beside it. The whole bottom floor was engulfed in the hearty smell of oregano and spices, drifting from room to room. I had learned to cook at a young age because of my father. If I didn’t cook for us we simply wouldn’t eat. I had many memories of getting sick in grade school and starving for days when I couldn’t stand long enough to pull something together.  _Maybe he starved to death after I left._  I shook the thoughts from my head, stirring the sauce.  
  
Soon enough the meal was ready, and partitioned into a serving dish in the center of the dining room table, with a single white ceramic plate placed before it. Walking quietly towards the back of the house I peered into the rooms whose doors were left open, in search of Mr. Carlile.  
  
“Mr. Carlile,” I said respectfully as I stood in the entryway of a study, seeing him perched behind a desk with glasses on. They made him look sharp, intellectual. The more I studied him I realized just how attractive he was, though it didn’t matter what I thought of his appearance. I imagined our relationship would remain very minimal, me simply cleaning and fixing what needs to be done and retreating to my room, with very little to no conversation. It seemed like a mutually beneficial relationship, but required no real need for casual conversation. “Dinner.”  
  
He nodded at me, removing his glasses and laying them on the desk along with a stack of papers he had been glancing over. It took very little time for him to reach the door with his long legs, breezing past me towards the dining room. I wiped my hands on the apron, making my way back towards my quarters, but was stopped short by a hand laid softly on the side of my arm. I flinched away from it, taken off guard. Meeting his gaze, he remained emotionless on the surface, dropping his hand away from me.  
  
“Where are you going?” he asked.  
  
“To my room,” I quickly regained my composure. “Was there something else you needed me to do?”  
  
“We eat at the table together here. House rule.” And with that he turned and strolled down the narrow hallway, rounding the corner and leaving my sight. I couldn’t suppress the look of confusion that occupied my features, taking a moment to process what he said. Eat together? For every meal? I shook my head slowly, making my way to the dining room, wondering if there were any other house rules. I saw him there, at the table, filling two plates and setting one in front of himself, the other in the seat across from him. He had an unusually small table for the large amount of space in the room, only four chairs circling it. It felt like a cottage, albeit lofty. I decided not to question it aloud. It was my first day. I would adjust to things. I always did.  
  
Pulling the chair out, I settled on the edge, lightly lifting the fork beside me. Without looking at Mr. Carlile I began to eat, slowly and decisively, staring at a spot on the wooden tabletop. Eventually I saw him lift his own utensil out of my peripheral vision, scooping the pasta up and eating quickly. He gave no indication of how he felt about the cooking, though I took it as a good sign, relieved he found no immediate fault with it. We dined quietly for several minutes, with only the clinking of forks against plates. I settled into the silence, grateful for the lack of empty small talk. Today had been such an eventful day. I was ready to sink into the warmth of a bath and feel the soft sheets of my bed.  
  
Moments after I finished my last bite Mr. Carlile rose swiftly from his seat, reaching easily across the table, lifting my empty plate. I was confused as he carried both his and mine to the kitchen sink, turning on the faucet to rinse them. I stood, approaching the sink as well.  
  
“I’ll take care of that, Mr. Carlile,” I said, moving to take the dish from his hand. He shuffled to the side, not relinquishing it, craning his head down at me.  
  
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”  
  
“That’s what I’m here for,” I persisted, continuing to reach into the sink.  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“Mr. Carlile, I-“  
  
“It’s Austin,” he grabbed my wrist and I realized how close I had gotten to him, nearly pressed into his side. He had bent closer to my eye level to emphasize his point, our gazes intently locked.  
  
“What?” my voice cracked slightly, and I went to take a step away but his large hand wrapped around my wrist held me in place.  
  
“My name. Not Mr. Carlile, but Austin. I said it’s fine.” He released his grip on me, rinsing off the plates one last time before shutting the water off, stalking away and around the corner without another word. I stood, unmoving, a dazed look on my face. My wrist tickled where his fingers held. It had been a long time since I came in physical contact with anyone. I thought back to the last time.  
  
My chest sank.  
  
_Please… don’t let him find me this time…_  My fists clenched at my sides.  _I don’t want to go back home._


	2. Chapter 2

I nuzzled in closer to the smooth sheets beneath me, warmth permeating throughout my entire body as I felt sunlight blanketing me in comfort. Goosebumps raised over my bare arms as I shifted, my legs tangled in sheets softer than any I had ever felt before. My fingers drifted over the patches of a quilt, settling into the indents and ridges, running over the thick home-stitched threads. I moaned quietly in protest to my own waking body, not yet ready to relinquish the hazy dream that I was clinging to in my mind. My mouth was warm and groggy, my hair thrown messily over my face. I had begun to settle back into my dream-like state, until I jumped, not recognizing where I was. I had never had a comfortable bed at home. Never any soft sheets, only a scratchy mattress that had a scrappy comforter on top. There was a window in my room, but I wasn’t usually allowed to pull the curtains back and let the sunlight in. Dad believed the neighbors would look in, try to see if we had anything worth stealing. Always paranoid.  
  
I sat up quickly, whipping my head around, taking in the light washing over everything, the golden luminosity of the morning sun soaking everything in an iridescent glow. Not only was I in a bed, a real bed with a frame and sheets and everything, but I also had two blankets atop me. The luxury of more than one blanket, one that wasn’t littered with holes, was new to me. As I studied my surroundings, the memories of the day before came flooding back. This was my home now.  
  
I scrambled for my phone, realizing it must be late as the sun rose higher in the sky. Checking the time, I saw it was already 6:10. Usually I was up by 5. I stumbled out of the comfort of the bed, yearning for the sheets to pull me back and wrap me in their warm embrace, my head foggy, relaxed once again as I realized I was safe. Finally, safe. Treading into the bathroom, my feet tingled in protest against the cold tile, a stark difference to the warm hardwood floors. I turned the knob on the old-fashioned bath tub, and quickly enough it was filling with hot water. I stripped from my pajamas, already scarcely clothed in only a tank top and underwear, letting them fall near the door as I descended into the scorching water, just as I liked it. My hair sprawled around me as I sunk into the base of the tub, my back running along the porcelain interior, my arms wrapping around my knees as I waited for the water to consume me. I felt my body waking up, my senses stirring.  
  
Amid the immense comfort that surrounded me I felt an aching in my chest. An emptiness settled into me, overwhelming me quickly. I wasn’t used to this, to feeling safe, feeling like I didn’t have to worry. I was amazed at the difference it could make to wake up without fear. It felt like taking my time in a warm bath alone with my thoughts was an indulgence, an extravagant amenity that I had never experienced before. What would happen if I had to go back? Back to the way things were. Back to  _him_. I hugged my knees tighter, my hair sticking to my face with water and sweat. I didn’t want to think about it.  
  
I sighed softly in the still air, the only sound around me the faucet slowly filling the tub. My chest felt tight, my mind spinning with all the possible scenarios of how I could lose this short lived security. I clung to my legs, counting the freckles on my knees as I lost myself in thought, before I finally sank into the water and washed away the panic that was eating away at me. As I toweled off, I still felt the fear sitting on my shoulder, gnawing on my neck, invading all my personal thoughts.  
  
I decided that I would leave all that behind me in the bathroom, and steeled myself as I emerged from the steamy chamber. I put on my best poker face, and closed my eyes, taking one final deep breath before I started the day.  
  
Rummaging through my closet, I threw on the first flowy, white summer dress I could find, along with a cardigan and some comfortable flats. All my clothes were muted and earth toned, subtle and quiet. I pushed myself to leave the confines of my room, quietly making my way into the kitchen. I searched around for any signs of life other than myself, but only found a silent house.  _He must not be awake yet_.  
  
I began some initial chores, dusting the living room, putting on a load of dishes. Despite the fact that he was a bachelor, and lived alone in this house, it was surprisingly clean. I was a little lost as to why he really needed a live in maid. He seemed quite capable, and still did his own fair share of cleaning up after himself. He didn’t leave things laying out of place, or have trash anywhere it shouldn’t be. He threw his laundry in the hampers and put his dishes directly into the dishwasher when he was done with them. He was tidy on his own.  
  
I opened the back door, leaving it ajar as I stepped onto the porch, letting some fresh air into the open kitchen area. The backyard wasn’t particularly large, with an expanse of cement just beyond the door acting as a porch, with a few small trees sprinkling the yard. Just to the side of the patio area was a small bed of soil that was well kept, small delicate flowers planted in rows. They were all the same type, all pink and soft. I reached over, grabbing a silver metal watering tin that was placed nearby on the ground. I sprinkled them with water, watching it roll over the smooth petals, dripping off in beads. Lowering it, I reached down, gently stroking one of the flowers, feeling the smoothness of the petals against my fingertips. They were beautiful, as if they weren’t meant for human eyes. Pure and untainted.  
  
I jumped as I heard someone shift behind me.  
  
“Mr. Carli-…Austin,” I corrected myself, standing up as I turned, coming face to face with him. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, steam billowing over the top of the mug, drifting upwards, the scent filling the outside air. “I’m sorry. I was just admiring the flowers,” I admitted quietly, setting the can by my feet. His face was stoic as usual, unchanging as I spoke. He had a bit of stubble lining his jaw, making him look more rugged than the day before. Regardless of how indifferent his facial expressions were, his eyes always looked gentle. A gentle giant. He nodded in response, sipping on his drink.  
  
“Chrysanthemums. They’re my favorite,” he said unobtrusively, staring down at them. His voice was almost as soft as the flowers themselves. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the still hush of the morning. It felt like we were in our own little peaceful world on his back porch.  
  
“…Did you plant these yourself?” I wasn’t sure why I was asking him questions, engaging conversation. I had every intention of avoiding interaction with the owner of the house when I applied to this job, but something about him made me feel like I could ask him anything without fear of being rebuffed. Maybe it was his timid nature, or how tenderly his hands touched everything, like he would break it if he weren’t careful. He nodded in response to my question, falling silent for a moment before he spoke.  
  
“I did. About a year ago,” he stooped down, his fingers gliding over them. Even when he was crouching he was half my height. A silence settled over us, and I didn’t respond, feeling that he was hardly talking to me anymore, simply stating his thoughts aloud.  
  
Austin rose swiftly, turning and disappearing back into the house. He left the door open behind him, and just like that he was gone. I finished watering the plants and returned inside as well, making my way into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. I wondered why he was awake so early. Perhaps he was an early riser like me? I wasn’t sure I would be used to the company at this hour. Usually this was the time I had to myself, alone with my thoughts.  
  
It didn’t take me long to finish cooking breakfast, simply scrambled eggs and toast with jam. The scent wafted up into my nose as I carried a plate to the back of the house, to Austin’s study, where he spent most of his time it seemed. My stomach grumbled quietly, and I was thankful that he didn’t seem to hear it as I tapped on the open door.  
  
“Would you like breakfast?” I implored and he nodded. I stepped lightly into the room, feeling like I was intruding on a private space that didn’t belong to anyone but him. I placed the plate on the side of his desk, and turned to leave, but something caught my eye. A picture, of what seemed to be Austin, though young and bright eyed, standing with an older woman with her hands placed lovingly on his shoulders, both of them smiling widely at the camera. His mother, maybe? This was the only family photo I had seen in the entire house. He followed my eyes to the photograph and moved, promptly turning the photo face down. I met his eyes, and though they weren’t threatening, he almost seemed like a wild animal that was giving me a cautionary look, one that reminded me of my place. I shook my head, my face warming with a feeling of guilt, though I wasn’t sure why. I quickly turned to leave, but was stopped short by his deep voice.  
  
“We’re eating at the table,” he stood with his plate, walking up behind me, waiting for me to leave the room first. I took the hint, stepping out ahead of him, and he shut the door behind us. It felt like a warning. We walked down the hallway, him only a few steps away for the entirety of the trip, and I made myself a plate as he sat down. I decided not to say anything about the strange behavior or any of the questions I had as I settled across from him. This meal was the similar to the night before, dining in silence, only the sound of utensils hitting the plates and the occasional breeze outside the back door.  
  
“Do you need anything from the grocery store?” I spoke, shattering the quiet. He nodded, standing and retrieving a list from the counter top, placing it on the table and sliding it towards me before he sat again, finishing his food. I glanced over the chicken scratch scrawled on the sheet before me, taking the last bite of my own breakfast. Like the night before, he reached over, picking up my plate and taking it to the sink. I didn’t fight him this time. I stood nearby, leaning slightly into the countertop as I watched him rinse the plates, his arms slim and lean as he moved, almost mesmerizingly with his long limbs and nimble fingers. I found my voice, and with it a small sum of courage.  
  
“Was that your mom in the picture?... She was very pretty,” he froze for a moment before he continued what he was doing, not turning to face me at all. “I never knew my mom. She died when I was little… But your mom had beautiful hair and eyes. I wish I had pretty hair and eyes like that.” Maybe it was his silence that urged me to continue talking. I wasn’t a very vocal person, but then again I also had never had anyone but my dad to talk to. “Will she ever visit here?” I asked, and he dropped the dish into the sink roughly, the plate clattering against the metal. I looked up, confused, as he stalked over to where I stood.  
  
“I don’t care about your personal life. You’re not here to socialize so get to work,” he said sternly. Though his voice remained monotonous, it held so much weight. His eyes bore into mine with anger and irritation, kindling beneath the surface. I felt my blood run cold, embarrassment and regret washing over me as I rung my hands together. My skin felt hot as I turned, trying not to outwardly cringe, feeling ashamed of myself for attempting to reach out.  
  
“Right… I’m going to the store,” I said weakly, grabbing the list from the table and hurrying out the door. My head was a mess, not sure how to feel after being snapped at by someone so generally calm and collected. Though I felt like crying, I composed myself, breathing deeply again. There was no need. I had faced worse. This only solidified my initial thoughts of this job, that I would keep to myself, and despite the fact that we remained in the same house, I would live a solitary life. I didn’t need other people. I felt the knot in my chest begin to loosen, my stomach settling.  _Shake it off_.  
  
I walked through the automatic double doors of the grocery store nearby, not a ten-minute walk from the house. I strolled down the aisles, my mind continually going back to Austin’s face when he approached me before. I shook my head, trying not to think about it. As I searched for the aisle with the canned goods I glanced up, catching sight of a familiar face. My stomach dropped.  
  
Dodging behind the nearest shelf I felt myself begin to tense again. This time tears began welling in my eyes, and I wasn’t concentrating on holding them in, or acting stoic, but only thinking about the fear of being caught. I peeked around the corner, confirming it was indeed who I thought it was. His name was Nick, an old friend of my father’s, who used to visit frequently enough when my dad had his poker nights. They both were avid gamblers, and would often get drunk together and fight over the money owed to each other. My mind drifted back to the distant memories of when I was sixteen.  
  
 _”Liana! Be a sweetheart and get me another beer,” my dad’s friend, Nick, gave me a toothy grin, showing his rotting teeth and exposed gums. I kept my head low, nodding obediently as I turned towards the kitchen. I jumped as his leathery hand slithered up the back of my thigh, patting my backside. I felt my stomach churn with disgust, quickly walking away as my skin crawled, but I knew better than to say anything in opposition. I pulled the fridge door open. It was mostly empty, as usual. I reached for the first beer I saw and grabbed it, passing it to the man and scurrying out of the room before another friend could take notice of me. Most of the time they didn’t pay me any mind. Every once in a while they would have me stay and watch their poker games, telling me it would be valuable to learn, even saying I could practice and get exceptionally good at cheating, make a living off swindling people in casinos. That was the way these people thought, always scheming to find money, didn’t matter if it was clean or not.  
  
I moved quietly into my room, shutting the door softly behind me as not to call attention to myself. They were just outside, yelling and cackling over their crude conversations. My mattress squeaked lightly as I lowered myself onto it, curling up into a ball in the corner. I hoped none of them came in here tonight. There was no lock on my door. They never did anything, not really. Nothing more than laying a grimy hand on my thigh, or leaning close to me while they spoke, their breath rank with alcohol and putrefaction. But all the same, my body was tense with nerves and anxiety that they would come in here, approach me, say the same uninvited words and advice. They had never done anything before, but that didn’t mean they never would. I hated it when dad had his dodgy friends over. I hated this place. _  
  
I ignored the shelf behind me stabbing into my shoulder blade as I cradled my head in my hands. I felt my mind slowly unraveling as the panic overcame me. My chest felt like it might cave in as my lungs clambered on, gasping for air, my vision blurring.  _I can’t go back_. I slid towards the floor, my mouth hanging open as I tried to breath, but I could only take small, strangled breaths. I rocked back and forth, my mind burning, white hot.  _I won’t go back!_  I was barely aware of the sturdy hands that had placed themselves over my own, my hair falling in waves over them. They gripped my face, and steadied me, forcing me to stop rocking. Slowly, slowly, my vision focused, Austin coming into view. He held my gaze. His eyes were gentle again.  
  
He didn’t shush me. He didn’t say a word. He began breathing deeply, rhythmically, moving so I would mimic him, his eyes never leaving mine. I began to calm down, my panic subsiding as I concentrated on breathing with him. I tried to think only of him right here in front of me. His deep brown eyes. The glint of his nose ring. The five o’clock shadow climbing his jaw. The soft curve of his lips. I glanced up, seeing Nick’s face over his shoulder, and I sucked in a sharp breath.  
  
“He’s going to find me,” I gasped, pulling back roughly from Austin’s hands. I tore out of his grasp and slammed my back against the shelves behind me, knocking things from them. I frantically looked up, terrified it drew attention to me. Before I could decipher if Nick had seen me or not, Austin had pulled me up onto my feet, and into his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around me, shielding me from any prying eyes. My legs shook as we waited, and I sunk into his warm shoulder. My hands trembled as I gripped his jacket tightly, as if I would drift away if I relaxed my hold. After a few moments he released me, grasping one of my shaking hands.  
  
“He’s gone,” his face was void of emotion as he led me towards a bench near the front of the store. “Stay here,” he commanded as he disappeared from my sight. I wondered if he was going to leave me there. Maybe he would call the agency and request a new maid. Maybe all of this was for nothing, and I would end up in my father’s clutches again. But much to my surprise, Austin returned shortly after with a cold bottle of water in hand.  
  
“Drink this,” he tipped it toward me as he removed the cap, and I stared dumbly up at him. He waited a moment before he reached down, grabbing my arm and shoving it into my palm. “Drink,” He said firmly. I listened this time, the bottle shaking as I sipped from it, relieved as the cool liquid met my dry lips. I sat for a moment, my heart slowly calming down. “Come,” he tugged my wrist and I stood, tumbling forward. He caught me easily by my shoulders and didn’t let go until I was steady. He released me and we left the store, the condensation from the water bottle dripping over my fingers.  
  
“Why are you here?” My voice cracked as I spoke weakly. He didn’t respond at first, but eventually he spoke,  
  
“I felt bad for snapping at you. I followed you to apologize. It was unwarranted, I’m sorry,” his voice was like velvet as he spoke, low and decisive, weighing each word carefully. My head fell limp as I stared at the ground, walking in his shadow.  
  
“Thank you for helping me,” I rasped and he stopped suddenly. I bumped into his back, almost falling backward but balancing myself. I looked up, confused.  
  
“Can you just tell me… You’re not a wanted criminal are you?”  
  
“And what if I was?”  
  
“…I guess you couldn’t do the grocery shopping anymore,” he concluded, and continued walking. I laughed softly behind him and followed, my eyes heavy.  
  
“No… No, I’m not a criminal,” I clarified, and we fell into a silence.  
  
“If you want to talk about it… I’ve been told I’m a good listener,”  
  
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I replied, staring at the back of his neck. Somehow the conversation was flowing effortlessly enough between us. It wasn’t something I had pictured easily with him, but I felt weak, tired after experiencing so much fear so suddenly, and I didn’t have the strength to keep my guard up. “I’m running… From my father. I left his house a year ago, and I’ve been dodging him ever since. He says that I belong to him. That I owe him for raising me, and I’m not allowed to leave. But, I can’t stay there anymore. I can’t live in that place,” I shook my head. “I want to be happy,” I almost whispered. Silence settled over us for several moments, until Austin nodded.  
  
“I’ll help you. You don’t have to go back there again,” he said.  
  
The rest of the walk home was quiet.


End file.
